Stepping In
by KatyMM
Summary: Castiel talks to Sam... about Dean. One bad word. No spoilers. Companion and prequel to Intervention.


A/N This is a sort of prequel to Intervention. The Sam POV that some lovely readers asked about... except it sort of turned into a Castiel POV!

A/N2 I do hope Twinchasoblade will forgive me for mentioning that she was the total inspiration for this! (and that I hope she likes it!)

* * *

Sam slept. Ruby rarely stayed the night and it never really occurred to him to wonder where she went when she wasn't with him - or feeding him.

"Sam."

His eyes flew open, but he didn't move a muscle. It was a mixture of years of training and now? Well, he was stronger - more alert.

"Sam."

What was familiar about that voice?

"I know you're awake."

_Castiel!_

Sam sat up immediately and switched on the bedside lamp. Castiel was seated in a chair opposite the bed; wearing his customary raincoat, in the middle of the night – in the middle of a warm, dry spring.

"Is something wrong with Dean?"

"Yes."

"What?" Sam bolted out of bed, scratching around for his hastily discarded clothes.

"You."

"Pardon me?"

"Sit down Sam. Please."

Sam sat down.

"Why are you here?"

"I need to know something."

"What?"

"How far gone are you Sam?"

"Oh, you mean, how dark-side am I?" Sam glowered at the angel. He was having a hard time not just punching the guy… the vessel… whatever. _All these years, I've been praying, and believing - while dad was consumed by revenge and Dean simply didn't believe at all. And now there's proof of angels and a God! And they hate me!_

"That's not how it works."

"Holy Crap! I mean. Uh. Sorry! But…you're reading my mind?"

"No. You're projecting."

"I am? Must be a new…."

"How far gone are you Sam?"

"You said this was about Dean."

"It is."

"Well how about you stop asking me about me, and tell me what's wrong with my brother?"

"Because I have already told you."

"Oh yeah. Me. It's all about me. I'm turning evil and my saintly brother is falling apart. Right?" Sam looked straight at Castiel. Searching for any vestige of pity or hope in those cool, unfathomable eyes.

"Sam. Please. How far gone are you?"

"Why do you keep asking that? What does it even matter?"

"It matters a great deal."

"Oh yeah, who does it matter to? Not God – that's for sure!"

"For a start, it matters to Dean."

"Dean_?" Have you seen Dean lately? He's a mess! And guess whose fault that is? Mine! He went to fucking hell for me, but it doesn't make any difference because everything has been decided for me. It's my fault a demon dripped blood in my mouth! It's my fault mom died. My fault dad gave himself up. My fault Dean will never forgive me… it's…_

"Sam." Castiel spoke very softly but he knew Sam heard.

_Crap he knows! How do I get out of this? Kill him! Oh yeah! Kill an angel – way to go Sam! You're no__t that far gone. Not that the angels seem all that much better than the demons really. Whatever happened to good versus evil? How did it all get so complicated.. so messed up? How can you even tell who's good and who's bad – who to trust …who to kill…_

"I've been thinking about that too."

Sam nearly fell off the bed.

"Uh, guess I was projecting again?"

Castiel's response was the merest upturn of one side of his mouth.

_He's smirking! __Dean's rubbing off on him! _

"Maybe he is." Castiel smiled.

"Sam. Can you talk to me?"

"Well I don't need to, do I? You can just read my mind."

"No. I can only hear you when you project."

Sam covered both eyes. "Ask me the question again."

"How far gone are you Sam?"

Sam's eyes stung and, after a moment, long-held-back tears ran, unchecked, down both cheeks.

"I don't know. I think it's bad." He kept his eyes covered_. Just then, he didn't want to see Castiel's expression. Just in case it was pity. Or worse. Hopelessness._

"There is still hope."

"How?"

"Because you have taken the first step."

Sam looked up at that. This discussion was confusing and unexpected, but he was starting to feel something like a tiny kernel of hope.

"I can fix this?"

"Not on your own. Talk to your brother. Tell him the truth. It's what he needs from you."

"Will he ever forgive me?"

"He forgave you before."

"For leaving?"

Almost imperceptibly, Castiel nodded. Sam realised that he was becoming accustomed to the angel's very muted responses. And that unnerved him. _Was it because of the… the…addic.. the blood… or because of Castiel?_

"Sam, I can hear you."

Sam slumped.

"Human beings have choices Sam. You do, and so does your brother. He can choose to forgive you – to help you. But you have to meet him half way. The choices you make now will affect everything that happens afterwards. But Sam. He has the choice to walk away too."

Sam was in turmoil. The demon blood was helping him. It was helping him to kill evil things. It was helping him to save people… to save Dean… to save Castiel!

"Why won't God help us?"

"Why do you think he isn't?"

"Oh don't give me the "footprints in the sand" crap! Where has God ever been for my family?" _Why didn't my prayers work?_

"Sam, they did."

Sam rolled onto the bed and curled up. He still faced the angel though. Eyeing him.

"There are billions of people in the world Sam. You two are now top of the list."

Sam laughed. An empty, futile sound - even to his own ears.

"That's nothing to do with us – that's your battle for supremacy."

"Yes. It is."

A curiously easy silence followed. Sam was the one to break it though.

"I think you care about Dean."

"I do."

"I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going there. I'm going darkside even though I don't understand why or how. But I'm going there anyway. Dean can see it. He knows."

"Talk to him. You can change this."

"Isn't it too late? He knows about me. Someone loves everyone, right? No matter how evil they are? Pretty sure my mom loved me… but with Dean… no way…not after…

"After what Sam?"

"He went to hell for me! He went _through_ hell for me! So did Dad! And I'm not even worth it! I have fucked up every time. Dean knows it. God! I drink demon blood – how could he ever forgive me for that?"

Castiel came perilously close to comforting the boy as he curled in on himself on the bed.

Because of course, he _could_. But he had somewhere else he needed to be.

After a gentle touch to his forehead, Sam slept peacefully enough.


End file.
